The View
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Will House's cluelessness ruin his Parisian vacation with Cuddy?


The View

House and Rachel were sitting side by side against the headboard, watching Cuddy pack.

"Mama where are you going?" Rachel asked.

"I told you already, sweetie. House and I are going to Paris."

"Is it far far away?"

"Pretty far," Cuddy said, distractedly. She was trying to figure out which shoes to take.

"As far as the moon?"

"No, not as far as the moon."

"As far as America?"

Now Cuddy looked at her.

"Rachel, we're _in_ America."

"Why do we even send her to pre-school?" House muttered.

"As far as Ponyville?"

"Ponyville isn't a real place, Rach," Cuddy said. "But no, not that far."

"I'm totally calling that school when we get back," House said.

"House and I are taking a plane and we'll fly _all _the way across the Atlantic Ocean and the flight will take over 10 hours!"

"But we'll somehow manage to find ways to distract ourselves," House said, raising his eyebrows. Cuddy swatted him with a sweater.

"But even though we'll be far, far away, we'll still be able to call you and send you lots of emails and postcards, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel said, temporarily satisfied.

She continued to watch her mother pack.

"How long will you be gone?" she said.

"I told you Rach. A week."

"Then why are you taking so much clothing?"

Cuddy glared at House.

"You totally put her up to that!"

"I'm innocent!" House protested. Then he pat Rachel's head. "Wisdom from the mouths of babes."

"Mama likes lots of options," Cuddy said, defensively.

Now House leaned over and whispered something in Rachel's ear.

"Will you take your Halloween costume?" Rachel said.

"Now I _know_ you put her up to that!" Cuddy said.

House grinned. "Guilty as charged. It would be such a waste not to bring it."

"House, I'm never wearing that outfit again. It was a one time only deal. That's why I let you take a picture."

"It's already my screensaver at work," House cracked.

"It better not be."

"Mama had a Halloween costume?" Rachel said.

Cuddy shot House another look. He was always starting trouble.

"A special Halloween costume. That I put on after you went to bed."

"Can I see it?" Rachel said.

"Great idea!" House said, rubbing his hands together.

"No, it's just for grownups."

"I thought Halloween was for kids," Rachel said.

"Of all ages," House said.

And Cuddy shook her head.

Later, after they put Rachel to bed, she said to him: "I'm trusting that you didn't show that picture of me as Catwoman to anyone."

"But it would almost be cruel to hog all that sexiness to myself," he said.

"House, I'm serious," Cuddy said.

He eyed her. "I haven't shown anyone," he said.

"Not even Wilson," she said.

He hesitated. "Not even Wilson."

"Good," she said, snuggling him. "I did look pretty hot in it," she said, smiling in a self-satisfied kind of way.

"No one wears a pair of leather kitten ears quite like you," he agreed, kissing her.

"Are you excited about our trip?" she said, kissing him back.

"Deliriously," he said.

"One more work day and we're Paris bound," she said.

"Can't wait," he said. He began kissing her neck. His mouth migrated between her breasts, then to the flat plain of her stomach.

"Oooh la la," Cuddy said, leaning back.

#####

She noticed it right away the next day—eyes burning the back of her neck as she strode through the halls; conspiratorial titters in her wake.

"Meow!" one nurse said under her breath, to a small klatch of friends. The group dissolved into giggles.

"Good morning Dr. Cuddy," Bob from accounting said. "_Purr_fect weather we're having today."

"What's new, pussycat?" Nurse Jeffrey asked her—and winked.

"HOUSE!" Cuddy said, storming into his office.

He was sitting at his desk staring at something on his computer screen. When he saw her, he slammed the screen hastily.

"You rang, honeybuckets?"

"You showed people my Catwoman picture!"

His mouth opened for a second, then he closed it.

"Define people," he said.

"You little prick."

"I told you—that kind of hotness needs to be shared with the world."

"So you showed the whole hospital?"

"Negative," House said. "I only showed it to Wilson."

"You specifically told me you didn't show it to Wilson!"

"I was—what's the word I'm looking for?—lying."

"Who else did you show it to?"

"No one."

"But everyone has seen it. There's no way Wilson shared my picture with the entire hospital."

"You'd be surprised. His Tumblr account is very popular."

"House . . ."

"Okay, I may've also shown it to Blew the janitor."

"You showed it to Lou?"

"He just broke up with his girlfriend. He needed some cheering up."

"Please don't tell me you emailed it to him."

"He needed _lots_ of cheering up," House said.

"You idiot! He must've emailed it to some friends and now it's gone PPTH viral. Do you have _any_ concept of privacy?"

"We got a brochure about that from Human Resources, right?" he said.

She folded her arms.

"This isn't funny, House."

"Oh come on, Cuddy. You should be proud of your ability to wear tight leather. There aren't many hospital administrators who could pull that off. Well, except maybe Marty Zanzinger over at Jersey General. He does have an unusually tight butt."

"You really don't get it, do you House?"

"Get what: That you're massively overreacting?"

"That I have a professional reputation to uphold. And that as a woman, I have to work doubly hard to maintain that reputation."

"The costume did have a sort of dominatrix thing going—very authoritative."

"I can't believe you, House."

"I'm sorry, okay? I'll never brag about you to my friends again. Satisfied?"

"Apology not accepted.

"I guess this means no Mile High Club on the flight to Paris, huh?" he said, with a smirk.

"No Mile High Club because there won't be a flight to Paris. At least not together. I'm going alone."

"You're joking," he said.

"I'm not. I can't deal with this anymore. I can't deal with _you_ anymore."

And she stormed away. House watched her. He scratched his head.

"Merde," he said.

####

Cuddy sat on the airplane, alone.

She was miserable, mostly because House's recklessness and immaturity had once again managed to ruin everything. How could he not understand how important it was for her to keep her sex life and her work life separate? Was he really that dense?

But a tiny part of her was also regretting the fact that she'd asked him to stay home. Sharing that private picture was a major offense—certainly one of the worst since they'd been dating—but it was hardly a dealbreaker. She was just pissed, punishing him by withholding something he wanted, as she often did (dating House was a bit like supervising him; everything boiled down to what she was willing to let him get away with).

Paris was one of the most romantic cities in the world. Going alone was not exactly what she'd had in mind when they'd booked the trip.

("Really?" she had said excitedly, when House suggested Paris for their first vacation together. "I thought you'd want to go to Vegas. Or Graceland." "I want to go Paris," he said. "Because it'll make you happy and that will make me happy.")

Now she bit her lip. She'd been stubborn this morning, when House tried to convince her to change her mind.

"C'mon Cuddy, this is madness," he had said, sulking in the doorway. "We've been looking forward to this trip for months."

"I guess that'll teach you not to air our sex life in public," Cuddy said.

"Okay, you've taught me a valuable lesson," he said, taking her hand. "I'll never do it again. Can we go now?"

The taxi driver honked outside. Cuddy pulled her hand away.

"_I'm_ going. Alone. I'll see you in a week," she had said.

And he watched her helplessly as she dragged her bag to the curb and the driver loaded her luggage into the car.

Now she stared at the empty seat next to her. She felt her eyes begin to well with tears. Everything was all messed up. Everything.

And why had House chosen this, of all times, to obey her?

She half thought that he might show up anyway, limp down the aisle, plop down next to her. But he was nowhere to be found. She was alone.

Just as the flight attendant was beginning her spiel about the emergency exits, there was a commotion at the front of the aircraft.

And there, as though she had conjured him, was House, pushing past people, muttering "excusez-moi" under his breath and limping toward her.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked.

He collapsed next to her with an extravagant sigh.

Cuddy looked out the window and tried to conceal her smile.

Sometimes House's disobedience was a true blessing.

She continued to stare out the window.

"If you're not going to talk to me Cuddy, it's going to be a long flight to Paris," he said. "And an even longer week in Paris."

She swallowed, still not quite ready to give in.

"So here's the plan," he said. "You can photograph me in any outfit you choose—Little Boy Blue, Batman and/or Robin, Jack Sparrow, whatever floats your boat—and distribute said photo to the entire PPTH email server when we get back. Deal?"

She looked at him, thought it over a bit.

"Any outfit?" she said.

"She speaks!" he teased. Then added: "Any outfit."

"Thong?" she said.

"If that's what turns you on."

"Codpiece?"

"If you can find one big enough."

She ignored him.

"French maid?"

"I do look excellent in an apron."

"Deal," she said.

He took her hand, squeezed it.

"Hi," he said, looking at her.

"Hi," she said, now not even trying to hide her smile.

He pulled her hand to his lips, kissed it.

"You didn't really think I was going to let you go to Paris by yourself did you?" he whispered.

"I was beginning to wonder."

"You underestimate my powers to ignore you."

"Just this once, I'm glad you chose to ignore me," she said.

He grinned.

"Me too." Then he raised his eyebrows at her. "Now about that Mile High Club?"

"Don't press your luck."

####

Sex with House that night was amazing—a combination of hotel sex and makeup sex (whenever she fought with House the ensuing makeup sex was incredible—he was doubly attentive and ardent, as if he had been afraid he might never get to touch her again.) In the morning, they lay, side by side, as the Paris sun streamed through the hotel curtains.

"Bonjour, mon amour," he said to her.

They got room service. Still in white fluffy robes, they ate pain au chocolat and café au lait in bed.

Cuddy fed House a piece of her croissant.

"Best thing I ever put in my mouth," he said. Then considered it. "Well, second best thing."

She swatted him. "You're gross," she said.

"I meant Gino's Cheesesteaks. I don't know what you were talking about," he teased.

The finished their food.

"I'm going to shower," Cuddy said, standing up and stretching.

"Yes please," House said.

"Really?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You're insatiable."

"They don't call it French kissing for nothing," he said, following her.

They went to the Louvre and Jardin du Luxembourg; then explored the cobblestone streets of Montmartre.

If was there that they saw a mime, dressed in the classic mime garb of a striped shirt, red kerchief and beret.

"Ugh mimes," House said, a slightly revolted look on his face. "They're not even real anymore. This is just to pander to the tourists and their idea of what Paris is supposed to be like."

"Those outfits are so ridiculous," Cuddy agreed.

"I know," House said. "I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing."

The minute he said it, he regretted it.

"I mean, I . . ."

An evil smile crossed Cuddy's face.

"Oh really?" she said.

"Actually, I've always wanted to be a mime," House demured, quickly. "It's a dream come true to wear one of those outfits."

But it was too late.

"Excusez-moi?" Cuddy said to the mime. The mime looked at her, with that eerily expectant and child-like mime face.

"Combien voulez vous pour votre chapeau, votre chemise et votre écharpe?"

"You wouldn't," House said.

"Oh, I would."

The mime looked at her, wordless.

"Too bad, he doesn't speak," House said. "Let's go."  
"Cinquante?" Cuddy said.

The mime cocked his head.

"Soixante-quinze?" Cuddy said.

"You're insulting him, Cuddy," House said, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her away.

The mime raised his hands a bit—to suggest that Cuddy should go higher.

"Cent?" she said.

"That's absurd," House said.

The mime grinned broadly, took off his hat, threw it at her. Then he handed her his scarf. Then he pulled off his striped shirt. He was wearing nothing but a skimpy wife-beater underneath.

"House, go buy him a J'Adore Paris sweatshirt," Cuddy said absently.

"I'm supposed to _assist_ with this unholy transaction?"

The mime wrapped his arms around his small frame and pretended to be shivering.

"Look House. He's freezing."

"Oh for Christ's sake. . ." House grumbled. He went to a street vendor, bought the mime a sweatshirt.

Meanwhile, Cuddy held up the clothing approvingly.

"You are going to look truly adorable in this," she said.

"He's half my size," House groaned.

"I'm pretty sure there's a French saying: The tighter the chemise, the better the mime."

"There is absolutely no such saying as that."

"Oh, don't pout House. You promised. Let's go back to the hotel for our photo session. I'm feeling very Annie Leibovitz right now."

House rolled his eyes and followed.

####

The next day, they ate macarons at Pierre Hermé ("Five euros for a cookie?" House groused. Then he tasted one. "We'll take two boxes," he said), then strolled up and down the Champs-Élysées, then went to the Eiffel Tower, where House wrapped his arm around Cuddy, extended his other arm and took a picture of the two of them together. It was such an adorably boyfriendish thing for him to do, she kissed him. (She had to admit, she was having a wonderful time. House was on his best behavior—snarky but doting.)

Cuddy was girlishly excited to see the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, but they were both dismayed to find the elevators were undergoing routine maintenance and would be closed for the day.

"Oh no," Cuddy said, looking up, disappointed. She regrouped, shrugged at House. "Oh well."

He looked at her.

"You can take the stairs," he said.

"It's like, 1,600 stairs," she said. "I'll pass."

"You run that much on the treadmill every day," he said skeptically.

She took his hand.

"I don't want to go without you," she admitted.

"If you don't go up to the Eiffel Tower, I'm going to feel like crap. I'll wait down here. You can tell me all about it when you come down."

"No, House. It's _our_ vacation."

"What part of 'I want to go to Paris because it'll make you happy' didn't you understand?"

She peered at him.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Positive," he said.

Reluctantly, she went.

An hour and a half later, she emerged.

He was sitting on a park bench, flipping through a French gossip magazine.

"How was it?" he asked.

"See for yourself," she said. And she handed him her camera.

She had taken a videotape of her entire voyage up the Tower. He smiled, slightly abashed, and hit play.

"Okay, House: Our journey to the top of Paris begins," she said. "Note how clear and not out of breath my voice is right now. Enjoy it while it lasts."

She climbed the stairs, panning the steps and her fellow tourists.

"Doesn't this guy look like a French Danny DeVito?" she whispered, pointing the camera at one short bald guy who was lugging up the stairs. "I'm sure you'd have a theory as to why his wife is so attractive. Big wallet. . . or big. ..something else?"

Still whispering, she pointed the camera at another guy in a raincoat. "I'm pretty sure this guy is a flasher," she said, giggling.

Then she kept going, panned a beautiful young woman in a low-cut dress.

"And this is because I love you," she said. Then she turned the camera away. "That's enough," she said.

House laughed.

She kept climbing the steps, making small talk about everything and everyone she saw.

"This couple just had a huge fight and they're not talking to each other," she whispered. Then she pointed at another couple: "They're stoned out of their gourds."

House watched the video, the closest thing to a goofy grin Cuddy had ever seen playing on his face. Cuddy watched him watch. She put her head on his shoulder.

"I feel like a sherpa," Cuddy said, on the video. She was out of breath as she approached the top of the tower. "I'm getting altitude sickness."

Finally, she crested the tower.

"Wow," she said—taking the camera and panning the view. "It's breathtaking, isn't it?"

"Yes," House said, looking at her.

"I meant the view," Cuddy said.

"That too," he said.

On the video, Cuddy took off her jacket. Then she tented out her shirt, looked around to make sure no one was watching.

"What are you up to?" House said, squinting.

"Just watch," Cuddy said.

"Don't say I never gave you anything House," Cuddy said on the video.

And she placed the camera under her shirt.

"You can now officially say you saw my boobs on the top of the Eiffel Tower," she said.

"Ohmygod, you're not wearing a bra," House said, staring at the camera.

Cuddy shrugged, smiled.

On the video, she pulled out the camera out from under her shirt and pointed it at herself.

"Hi Wilson. Hi Lou," she said.

And she laughed.

FIN


End file.
